


Bet You

by baskerville



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-03
Updated: 2013-10-03
Packaged: 2017-12-28 08:00:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/989670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baskerville/pseuds/baskerville
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sebastian Moran served his time in the military. Now all he has to his name is his sniper rifle. But with a mysterious man, offering good money, the sniper is in for more than he bargained for. </p>
<p> "Are you ready to play a game?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bet You

**Author's Note:**

> This is, well it was supposed to be a one shot, but it's clearly going to turn into something more than that, now isn't it? This is dedicated to my Tiger, my Box Boy, My a'maelamin. My everything.

Sebastian Moran was never one for sentiment… or attachment. He was hired, did his job, and went on with what he had to do. Killing, shooting. Everything that could possibly be considered his line of work. But now? Ever since the day after the fall, adjustment has been everything but easy.

The date is 15th, July, 2012. It’s a Monday. Dull, dreary, and hot. Sebastian rose from his bed, hunching over as he placed his forearms to his thighs, in search for unnecessary comfort. The frown on his face only grew deeper as his head rose again. Sunlight beamed through the half snapped Venetian blinds, pouring over the room in certain spots. It annoyed his eyes, the light, but he never did do anything to fix it.  
Standing up, he headed for the bathroom. His bedhead signaled the good night’s rest, as he flicked on the light to his bathroom. It was small, like the rest of his flat. If you could even really call it a flat. It was more like a room. Cramped, dingy, and the best that 350 quid a month could get. Which, in reality, wasn't much. The sniper had made his home in the grueling little hole ever since the passing of his boss.  
James Moriarty, the world’s only consulting criminal. Sebastian would never forget the day they met. Moran was in his tent, cleaning his sniper. Of course, he’d been in the service for a fair amount of years, and never once would he have had it any other way. But on this particular day, there wasn't much to be done. Not for him, anyway. He had already headed to the practice range, partook in training, shooting, and he did his rounds around the camp. With the sun slowly setting, the only thing that was left to do was what he loved most during that time; marvel at his sniper rifle. He was talented, sometimes people thought too talented, with his gun. With the ability to hit a target, spot on, and dead-center, regardless of the distance, or height, Sebastian often surprised his fellow soldiers, as well as the higher ups with his talents. That’s why it wasn't surprising that he was chosen for the task he was.  
That night, taking apart his sniper, bit by bit to clean it, the focus slowly overcoming him, he was interrupted; Cadet Barton, a small, frail young man who was only added to the group not even 3 weeks ago, was standing in the opening of Moran’s tent. He looked up, acknowledging the boy, before looking right back down at his gun. It wasn't for a few moments that Moran had realized the youth was still standing there. Baring a nervous, crooked smile. He had an envelope in his hands.  
Lifting his head, the sniper gave a small nodding gesture, signaling the boy was allowed to enter the tent. Cigarette smoke filled the immediate area around the blonde, the light orange tip of the fag luminous on the long strip of white, with the dark tobacco undertone.  
Sebastian’s eyes ran over the boy, who was holding out a small, white envelope. The writing on the envelope was small, barely readable from the distance. But Sebastian knew it was for him. Setting down the scope he was polishing, he reached out, and plucked the parcel from the cadet’s hand. Some finger prints were smudged about the envelope. It could have been from all the dirt on the cadet’s hands, but judging by the differentiating sizes of fingerprints, as well as the return address printed on the mail itself, it was most likely from the thousands of miles it had to travel to final reach it’s destination. As he made the deduction, he read back over the return address. 

_JM_  
 _112_  
 _Belgrove St, The Megaro_  
 _London, United Kingdom_

“London… I don’ know many people fr’m there…” Sebastian muttered to himself, as he sloppily tore open the top of the envelope, and tugged out the letter within. “Certainly don’ know ‘nyone fr’m that expensive a part a’ London, either.”  
The cadet gave an expectant glance over the blonde, before tucking his hands behind his back. Shyly giving a kick to the dusty floor of the tent, he cleared his throat, years of awkwardness squeaking through in the first few syllables. “I-It was special delivery. Shipped immediately. They even ‘ad a trackin’ number put on it n’ all.” That was all he said before turning on a heel and heading out of the tent.  
With the cigarette lying limp between his lips, occasional smoke puffs leaving his lungs, as he examined the paper in his hands. Setting the now empty envelope aside, the blonde’s eyes scoured over the letter itself. The letter itself was on plain stationary paper. Ball point pen, black ink. Nothing about it was out of the ordinary. Not at first glance, no. It was the content that set Sebastian’s hairs on end. 

_Dearest Sebastian,_

_I've had the honor of watching you for quite some time. I have a game I’d like to play. I’m the King and you, play the Knight. What do you say? Want to join daddy in a fun little game of chess? Your talents could be put to much better use anyway._  
 _I can’t offer much, just… 800,000 quid if you find some way to get yourself to London. We’ll discuss the rest of your payment, as well as the game plan once you arrive. The address we’re to meet is on the envelope._  
 _I can’t wait to see you, Tiger.~_  
\- _JM x_

 

Reading over the words, Sebastian found himself having to do it again, and again, just to make sure he’d taken it all in right. Here he was, serving in the military, and some stranger, who’s name he doesn't even know, appears literally out of the blue, offering him that kind of money, just to get a chance to meet him in London? The unbelievable aspect of it all left the sniper on a bit of a tilt. With a deep breath, and wide, almost frightful eyes, he lowered the letter. The cigarette in his mouth was now down to the butt. Taking it between two fingers, he tosses it to the floor, and places a boot over it. His foot moves side to side as he puts out the still burning tobacco embers, but his eyes were fixated on the air in front of him.  
This was his chance to leave. To stop serving and finally head back home, where he wanted to be. With 800,000 quid guaranteed, just for him showing up, it was a pretty sweet deal. And so, he decided. He was almost done anyway, and in less than 3 weeks he would be discharged. After his service was up, he’d head to London. Because, at the time, everything seemed so new, and interesting. The idea of all of it was… fun.  
Looking back on it now, he almost wished that he would have said no. He wishes he would have declined the offer. Never went to Room 112 after his discharge, but instead just went back home. He wishes he could do it all over again, so he wouldn't end up where he was now. Sad, depressed, and mourning the loss of the person he ever seemed to truly love.


End file.
